


Something Soft, Something Cuddly

by madeitsimple



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29797059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeitsimple/pseuds/madeitsimple
Summary: Newt crouches at his brother's feet, managing to slip off Theseus’ shoes and waistcoat, before Theseus turns away from him and crawls into the bed, still fully clothed.
Relationships: Newt Scamander & Theseus Scamander, Newt Scamander/Theseus Scamander
Kudos: 14





	Something Soft, Something Cuddly

**Author's Note:**

> Can be gen or slash, depending on your taste.

They haven’t lived under the same roof for years, decades even. 

Even before Theseus left for Hogwarts, Newt wasn’t likely to run into him in their large estate at home. They were on different paths, running around and over each other but never together. Newt was always out in the wood or the field, dreaming with his books or tending to the wildlife. Theseus preferred people, and was never without the company of a handful friends. Every time Newt entered in a room, it seemed that Theseus had just left it, the air always buzzing in his wake. 

After Leta—that’s all Newt can bear to say about it, never anything more. 

After Leta, Theseus follows Newt to his small Georgian maisonette in central London. He sits shell shocked in a large arm chair by the fire, his face streaked with dirt, fingers still gripping his wand. Newt gently pries the wand from his hand, replaces it with a glass of water.

“Just take a sip or two Thes, that’s it.” Newt coxes him softly, like he would one of his creatures. When the glass is empty, he places a hand on Theseus’ elbow and guides him up to the spare bedroom. Theseus sits heavily on the bed, still dazed. In the moonlight, his face looks alabaster pale, eerily reminiscent of the Greek hero he’s named after. Newt crouches at his brother's feet, managing to slip off Theseus’ shoes and waistcoat, before Theseus turns away from him and crawls into the bed, still fully clothed.

Overflowing with sadness himself, Newt retreats into his case, pouring his own broken heart into his creatures. He feeds the nifflers through tears in his eyes, breaks down sobbing while making sure the occamys are secure in their nest. His eyes are red and puffy when he climbs back up into the basement, his throat raw, but he feels slightly less shattered, less bereft than before.

Theseus doesn’t return to the flat he shared with Leta, lets Newt arrange for his clothes and sundries to be brought over instead. In the mornings, he stares outside Newt’s front window, his back rigid, until Newt forces a cup of tea in his hand, or places a plate in front of him. 

“What good would starving yourself do?” Newt nudges him to take a few more bites of toast, unnerved at seeing his brother so silent, so still. He eats methodically, his gaze distant and far away. 

“Do you want to come with me?” Newt asks him one morning, as he’s about to descend down into his case. Theseus has never shown any interest in visiting Newt’s creatures, and only gives him a curt shake of his head.

“Thes—,” Newt starts to cajole, but Theseus’ sharp glare cuts him off. 

When he returns, some hours later, Theseus doesn’t look to have moved.

“I can hear you, you know,” Newt says to Theseus’ back. “At night.” 

Theseus turns to face him, slightly startled. “What?” 

“I can hear you, at night. Moving around the house.”

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry if—”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Newt takes a few steps closer and Theseus’ eyes fall for the first time, to the fwooper in his hands. His eyes linger for a moment on the birds bright feathers. “I know you’re not getting a lot of sleep. I can hear you pacing.” 

Theseus’ clenches his jaw, not pleased to have been found out. 

“I thought maybe, this might help.” He holds the fwooper out to Theseus who remains rigid. “It can be good for you, you know, to hold something soft, something cuddly.” 

“I’m not like you Newt, animals don’t take to me.” Theseus looks hesitant, but for once Newt ignores his objection. 

“Here, just hold out your hands and stay still for a few moments…” Newt carefully transfers the fwooper from his own hands into Theseus. He takes Theseus’ fingers and strokes the bird’s head and spine. It preens for them, changing its colors in a flash. For the first time in days, a hint of a smile breaks Theseus’ face. 

“They’re vain little creatures,” Newt says, forgetting everything for a moment but the wonder and beauty in front of him. “Beautiful, but if you don’t have a silencing charm on them, they’ll drive you absolutely bonkers.” He keeps up a steady prattle of chatter, telling Theseus about the time he almost passed out trying to catch one. His brother holds the fwooper close to his chest, half-listening, watching its feathers cycle from blue to gold to magenta. Newt watches as finally, the lines around Theseus’ face soften, his eyes lose some of their coldness. 

The next morning, they get an owl from the ministry. 

In an hour’s time both of them are striding into the ministry offices, Grindelwald no longer something they can ignore. Theseus is needed in the auror department while Newt’s tracking skills are called upon. Before they part, Theseus fumbles for his brother’s fingers and squeezes them goodbye. 

It takes hours upon hours of work. Newt scurries through the streets of London, doing what little he can to see where Grindelwald might have beeb, but it all feels of little to no use. He arrives back at the ministry in the dead of night, exhausted and aching. He finds Theseus at his desk, with his head in his hands, looking drawn and pale. Without asking, he reaches for Theseus’ shoulder and apparates them back home. 

“You’re no good to anyone if you don’t rest,” Newt says. He pulls off Theseus’ coat, loosens his tie and calls down to Bunty that she can leave for the day. He’s never known how to talk to Theseus before, always seeming to say the wrong thing. Now, he goes down into his case and brings out a baby niffler, a charmer who needs extra attending. Newt takes it from where its perched on his shoulder and places it in Theseus’ outstretched palm. Something soft, something cuddly, it’s what Theseus needs. 

“Devilish little creatures,” Newt says, taking off his own coat and putting the kettle on. “They’ll swallow up anything shiny, so watch yourself.” 

Theseus pets the niffler in his palm, and a fraction of the days stress seems to melt from him. Never before a chatterbox, Newt keeps talking. He tells the tale of how he got his first niffler, how often he’s thought of being shod of the lot of them, how they’ve almost gotten him locked up on more than one occasion. Theseus settles into the chair by the fire, his eyes dropping shut and for once, Newt feels proud of himself. 

Still, Theseus wanders the house at night. Newt hears the creak of his door open and shut, the soft pad of Theseus’ footsteps across the hall and down the stairs. Newt lies in bed and thinks of going to him, but his throat closes up at what he would say, what comfort he could offer. He’s never been good with words so he lies in bed, his heart aching. 

The night after they get close to catching Grindelwald—another harsh, bloody battle in a field just south of Exeter—Newt spends longer than normal with his animals, desperate for their comfort after so much needless destruction. He waits, hopping that Theseus will find his way down but when he doesn’t, Newt picks the demiguise out of his enclosure and takes him up out of the case. 

However long Newt stays down there, Theseus is always waiting. 

He smiles when sees what Newt is holding, already leaning in to take the creature from his brother’s arms. Something childlike flickers across Theseus’ face when Newt hands him the soft ball of ancient fur. The animals innate calm seems to soothe them both and for a long moment, Theseus just stands in their small kitchen, staring at Newt over the animals head. 

“I know you loved her too,” Theseus says finally. 

Newt swallows past the lump in his throat and doesn’t met his brother’s eyes. “We were friends. All through school. That’s all.” 

“She loved you. Maybe more than she loved me.” 

Newt forces himself to look up, but Theseus’ eyes are on the demiguise.“That’s not true,” Newt says, blinking back his own tears. “You were going to get married. She choose you.” 

“There’s different kinds of love, Newton. Whatever you shared, I know she still felt it.” 

Newt brushes the back of his hand across his face, wiping away wetness. “I never hated you for it. It was nothing like that.” 

“I know.” 

Reluctantly, Theseus detaches the demiguise from his embrace and places him on the floor to totter over back to Newt. Demiguise give off heat like a furnace, and Newt knows first hand the chill that Theseus now must feel. He wants to say something else, but Theseus brushes past him and heads up the stairs. 

He doesn’t sleep, replaying the battle in his head. The image of Leta vanishing into white light playing nonstop through his head. Theseus screaming and Newt, holding him back. The crack of a door jostles him from thought, and he hears Theseus walk silently past his door. He listens for a long while, as Theseus pace around the house again. Finally, he gets out of bed, throwing an old jumper over his nightshirt. Theseus is leaning against the wooden kitchen table, lost in thought. He looks up as the last step creaks under Newt’s foot. 

“Did I wake you?” 

Newt shakes his head. He wanders his menagerie when he can’t sleep, takes comfort in the living things around him, but it’s clear that’s not helping Theseus. “Are you alright?” he asks. For once, he looks his brother clear in the face. It’s Theseus who looks away first, a slight wobble in his chin. 

“I thought maybe the creatures would help,” Newt says, moving closer. “Make you feel less alone. I’m sorry Thes, I suppose that’s not the case.” 

As children, they were far apart in height. Now, Newt realizes, Theseus is only a hair taller than him. He moves closer to his brother, pulled nearer by their shared grief. 

“You must be quite cold,” Newt says. Theseus is in a thin undershirt, hardly enough to keep out the chill of the night air. Newt’s about to reach for a blanket, but Theseus grasps at his elbow. His eyes are blue, watery pools, hallowed out from weeks of work and sorrow. Newt can feel the anguish rolling off his brother and it cuts him to his core. 

“It’s alright,” Newt whispers, and for the second time in his life, wraps his arms around his brother, pulling him in tight. Theseus buries his head in Newt’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the cheap, terrycloth wool of Newt’s blue jumper. “I’m right here.” 

Newt can feel Theseus trembling under his fingers, fighting exhaustion and grief. He lets out a sharp exhale against Newt’s ear, his breath hot and moist. “I’m sorry,” Theseus says, but Newt shushes him and pets the thick curls of his brown hair. He kisses the side of his brother’s face, a sign of affection that only their mother had ever before done. 

“You’re alright,” he says again, and Theseus squeezes his eyes shut, holding back tears that Newt wishes he would just let go. They stay like that till some of the pain bleeds out, until Theseus finally pulls away. He looks marginally less haunted, his eyes holding Newt’s.

“You’ll catch your death,” Newt says, leading them up the stairs. Theseus passes his own door and slides into Newt’s bed, curling his larger frame around his brother’s slimmer body. 

“Something soft, something cuddly,” Theseus says into the nape of Newt’s neck. Newt pulls Theseus’ arm tighter around his chest, twines their fingers together. “It can be good for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I randomly watched Fantastic Beasts and Crimes of Girndelwald over the weekend and ended up here?


End file.
